


Lost

by feministfangirl



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mind Meld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feministfangirl/pseuds/feministfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk’s only moment of modesty has disastrous results. The usual methods have no effect, so McCoy braves a Vulcan mind meld and goes in to bring Kirk out of his own mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009 for a STXI fix exchange on livejournal, as captaincadet.

McCoy woke up naked and warmer than usual, the blankets stretched tight around him and his skin warmest on his left side. He turned his head in the direction of the warmth and cracked an eye to see Kirk staring down at him. McCoy opened his other eye, the one not covered by a fringe of dark hair, frowning up at Kirk. Kirk’s face shifted, and then he grinned down at McCoy.

“What?” asked McCoy, his voice gruff with sleep.

“Nothing,” said Kirk, quickly, his grin faltering a little. But just as soon as it had come, the grin was back, full force. “You had a stupid look on your face. And a little…” He reached out and rubbed at McCoy’s chin. McCoy jerked backwards a little and rubbed at his face, guessing that Kirk wasn’t talking about drool. Kirk laughed and leaned forward, placing a slow kiss on McCoy’s lips. It calmed him, made him remember that this was Jim and when they were together there shouldn’t be any embarrassment, any worries, just comfort. They already knew each other so well, and now they were sliding further into the knowledge of one another. McCoy couldn’t think of anything better than falling asleep with Kirk, their limbs tangled together and their breathing as even as if they were one.

“Come on, Bones,” Kirk said, pushing the surplus of blankets off himself and rolling out of the bed built for one. “We’ve got an alpha shift coming up fast.” He flashed McCoy a grin. McCoy lay back and watched Kirk collect his clothes from their haphazard pile on the floor and begin to dress. McCoy was comfortable, surrounded by his scent, and didn’t want to get out of bed yet. Kirk tossed him an easy grin and slipped out and back to his own quarters. McCoy rolled over, breathing deeply. Jim’s spot was still warm, and McCoy lay face down in it for a moment longer, and then got up. He had an Alpha shift to run, and it wouldn’t do to get too sentimental over Jim, not yet. Their relationship was too new, built on layers of friendship that, though strong, are not built to withstand the weight of… something more.  
Shaking his head over the melancholy thoughts, McCoy got out of bed.

\---

McCoy was not often a part of the away team. He preferred the comfort of his surroundings and was hesitant to tempt fate with his own uncertainty of transporter technology, but the distress call from the colony of Nixxon Six was of a medical nature. And at this point, McCoy wouldn’t say no to a chance to get his feet on solid ground after four solid months in space, even if he had to be obliterated for a moment to do it.

Despite his eagerness to touch solid ground for a little while, he was nervous. As he headed to the transporter room, his stomach flip-flopped. It usually did when he was faced with something he found totally unsafe. This made his scowl more severe than usual, but he didn’t mind the lack of greetings from the younger crew members. He couldn't care less about being social. 

The walk up to the pad made him feel a little bit like he was going to his death, but the way Kirk lit up when he saw McCoy was worth it. Their eyes locked, and McCoy let his standard mask slip a little, allowing Kirk the smile reserved just for him. Still in the most tentative part of their shift from friends to more, McCoy was alight from every movement Kirk made that he’d once attributed to friendship. Now everything seemed like it meant something. 

Sulu bounded into the room and hopped up onto the pad, on the other side of Kirk. The moment was broken, and McCoy nodded a greeting in response to Sulu’s easy wave. The other man’s comfort put McCoy on edge.

“Are you ready, Bones?” asked Kirk, adding a sly wink when Sulu turned to secure the belt that would hold his phaser and other technology for the mission.

“Yeah,” said McCoy gruffly, triple-checking his tricorder and medkit. “I’m just preparing to be destroyed and put back together on the surface of this rock.” Kirk’s smirk back started playful, but softened into a sympathy McCoy thought might be accompanied by a particularly soft kiss if they were alone. 

He took comfort in the thought, and squared his shoulders as his Captain said, “Energize.”

\---

The colony on Nixxon Six was all that remained of a planet from the adjacent planetary system called Pll. The Pllau who lived on Nixxon Six were rescued when their planet was overpopulated by a kind of plant that was both poisonous and seedy. It spread, destroying their food supply in mere months and leaving them to starve until two passing Federation vessels had picked up their distress call and rescued the few they could. The most shocking part for the crew of the rescue ships had been that the adults of the Pllau were incredibly young, by human standards. The eldest people they rescued were in their late teens, but most of the people were thirteen or fourteen years old. The Pllau were humanoid, enough for the Federation crew to take the utmost care, as if they really were dealing with children. And though they did not look like humans, with their deep red skin and flattened ears and black eyes, they worked well with the already existing Starfleet scientist colony on Nixxon Six. After a few years, they requested the resources to build their own colony, and, seeing no harm, the Federation granted it. They kept an eye on them, but ultimately left them to their own devices. 

Five years later, Starfleet withdrew their colony and left what little resources they could part with to the child-race. The Pllau had been living in isolation for another five years, and by this time, only the eldest of them remembered their home planet. The departed Starfleet officers had left them with a means to set up a distress signal, which was what Lieutenant Uhura picked up as the Enterprise made its way past Nixxon’s system.

McCoy had read the information available on Pllau customs only on a surface level, but he knew enough to keep them out of trouble. Knowing Jim, he’d rely on his instincts instead of the reports that Uhura worked hard to make accurate. Sulu followed Kirk without question, but he always did his research. This was supposed to be a routine fix, but McCoy knew that with Kirk, things were rarely routine. McCoy would keep Kirk in line as best he could, but he knew Sulu was prepared to cover their bases if anything went wrong.

The beamed down. On the planet’s surface, they appeared before a set of gates. They were wooden gates that shuddered open as they approached. The three of them looked at each other, saying in a glance that they were ready for anything.

“Welcome,” said the tired looking young woman who stepped forward from the sparse crowd to greet them. She couldn’t have even been seventeen, but she seemed to hold the authority of a woman far beyond her years. Her face was surprised when they appeared before her, but only for a moment. She must have met humans before. “I am Elder Zunya,” she told them, followed by a gesture that must have been a greeting. The three men made the same greeting motion in return. All business, Zunya led them straight into the house they were standing before. They’d be in and out quickly.

The building was made entirely of cob. It was smooth and mostly round, almost the exact opposite of the structures that had once existed on Vulcan. Zunya led them from the entranceway deep into the house. The ceiling was low enough to require that they stoop, but the further they went, the higher the ceiling became. 

In the innermost room, a young man lay in a small bed. He was, perhaps, thirteen. McCoy crossed the room without hesitation to begin his diagnostic. He was glad to have a patient that he didn’t see day in and day out. It honed his bedside manner, which, at this point, really needed work.

The boy was lying face up, his hair plastered to his face. His eyes opened as McCoy drew nearer, and then fluttered shut. He coughed and then breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath. McCoy made the same greeting motion Zunya had made when they arrived on Nixxon Six. The boy smiled weakly, and did not object as McCoy pulled out his tricorder to begin his readings. 

“This is Harding,” said Zunya. “He is very ill. He is not dying of old age; he has perhaps ten years left. And he is only the first—there are ten others here who are similarly ill.” McCoy could see Kirk’s brow furrow at this. He returned his attention to the ill young man.

“What’re his symptoms?” asked Kirk, as much to Zunya as to McCoy.  
“Fatigue,” said Zunya. “Coughing. He is sweaty often.”

“He’s running a fever,” continued McCoy, “His lungs have fluid in them.”

“He has trouble sleeping,” Zunya added. Kirk frowned. 

“Sounds like he has a cold.” The frown became a half-smirk as glanced first at Sulu, and then at McCoy. McCoy ignored him in favour of the beeping tricorder.

“I’ll be damned,” said McCoy. “It is a cold.”

“What is this?” asked Zunya.

“A cold,” repeated McCoy. “The common cold. We know how to cure it, but it stumped humans for hundreds of years.” Harding looked skeptical and tried to tell them as such, but another round of coughing set him lying flat again, trying not to choke.

“This is not common here,” Zunya replied, her eyes flicking to McCoy and then back to the Captain. “We are exceptionally healthy people.”

“Except that you die before thirty,” said Kirk. Sulu’s face tightened, prepared for the fallout associated with Kirk’s causal method of speech.

“ _Thirty?_ ” exclaimed Zunya. “No one lives to thirty!”

“I’m coming close,” Kirk cut in, causing Zunya’s eyes to grow round. She looked half skeptical and half awed.

Ignoring the exchange, McCoy pulled out a hypospray and pressed it to the young man’s neck. The injection was painless, but the boy still flinched. 

“In about half an hour, you’ll feel right as rain.” Harding looked at him like he was crazy, but didn’t say anything. 

“How will we know this has solved it?”

“We’ll stick around until he’s better,” said Kirk, not missing a beat. “It’s no problem.” He flashed her a winning grin. She did not seem any more certain.

\---

Forty-five minutes later, Zunya was expressing her thanks to Kirk while McCoy treated the last patient, a little girl of about seven years old. By Pllau standards, this girl was already an adult, but she was so small and young that McCoy couldn’t think of her as such. 

“You’ll start feeling better in half an hour,” he told her with his most softened expression, halfway to a smile.

“Thank you,” she said, her throat hoarse from coughing. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“I go where my Captain orders,” muttered McCoy. Then he realized how that sounded, especially with their developing relationship, and felt his face grow a little hot.

“He seems kind,” she told McCoy.

“He can be,” he replied, still recovering from his own mental embarrassment. 

“Is he nice to talk to?” she asked, watching Kirk across the room.

“Yeah,” said McCoy. And saw how the girl seemed so interested, and figured that Kirk would relish the attention of a young fan. “Jim?” he called, pulling Kirk’s attention from the hushed conversation he was having with Sulu and Zunya. He beckoned him with a jerk of his head, and Kirk crossed the room in a few brisk strides as the girl smiled gratefully at McCoy.

“Jim, this is Renai.”

“Hello there,” said Kirk, halfway between his usual flirtatious greeting and his Captain’s voice. “Captain Kirk. Pleasure to meet you.”

“You must be a great man,” Renai breathed. 

“So I hear,” smirked Kirk, making McCoy cringe. While the girl seemed happy, Kirk was always insufferable in dashing hero mode. So he walked away to talk to Zunya about the vaccine he’d had beamed from the Enterprise.

His back had been turned about five minutes when he heard a weird sound. He whirled around to see Renai pulling away from Kirk, who was sliding to the floor, fully unconscious. 

McCoy was across the room in a shot, pulling Kirk upright. 

“What did you do?” he barked, as Sulu rushed over to help him lift Kirk into the chair beside the bed.

“I didn’t mean to!” cried Renai, as Zunya was pushing her flat, trying to get her to relax again. “I did not know it would go wrong!”

“What have you done?” asked Zunya, in a lower voice than McCoy's initial anger, but no nicer. McCoy was running the tricorder readings on Kirk while Sulu held him steady.

“I simply wished him good luck,” she said, turning her head away from Zunya’s penetrating glare. 

“You did not do it _properly_?” said Zunya incredulously.

“I thought I was!” the girl squeaked. “I told him that I was thankful for how good he has been to us, and that he must continue his good fortune. _I amplify this luck as thanks._ But he spoke of how he’d had bad luck, and…” McCoy was half-listening, but didn’t quite understand. He’d read that the Pllau were good at suggestion, but he didn’t know that they could do something like this. McCoy attempted to wake Kirk, but Kirk’s eyes remained closed.

“Renai,” said the young woman, her voice low with anger, “Did you amplify _modesty_?”

“I did not know he would be—“ but then she broke off into coughs again, for which McCoy was grateful.

“Fix him,” he told her, his voice tight. “Undo whatever it is you just did.”

“She can’t,” said Zunya. “This is not how it works.”

“Dammit, I said fix it!” McCoy was towering over her now, his nostrils flaring. Zunya raised herself to her full height. She was nothing compared to him, but her determination matched his point for point.

“We can do nothing. You must find out the solution yourself.” McCoy felt another wave of rage, but couldn’t take it out on the girl before him. 

“Fine,” he said. “Fine.” He walked over to Kirk and hauled him up, snapping at Sulu when he tried to help.

“Enterprise, three to beam up!” he barked. And then they were gone.

\---

In Medical, McCoy paced. Kirk had been in a coma for sixteen hours, now. Chapel had ordered him off duty three hours ago, but he’d only been asleep an hour when nightmares tore him from sleep. He returned to the sickbay where Kirk was, his lips slowly losing their colour. 

McCoy was at a loss. Kirk was fine, as far as his equipment was concerned. Breathing normal, organs functioning, no brain damage—except that he wasn’t conscious. He sat at Kirk’s side, staring blankly at the wrinkles Kirk’s shoulder made in the material beneath him. 

“Doctor McCoy.” McCoy didn’t have to look up to know it was Spock.

“What?” he snapped.

“I was informed that there has been no change in the Captain’s condition.”

“You heard right.” McCoy waited for Spock to continue, and was annoyed when he didn’t say anything, but didn’t leave. “What do you want?” he huffed into the silence. Still Spock did not reply, and McCoy was about to tell him off for disturbing him when the Commander came around the side of the biobed Kirk was on and reached out towards him.

“What are you doing?” snapped McCoy.

“I am going to perform a mind meld,” said Spock. “I believe this will assist in finding out whether the Captain’s condition is physical or psychosomatic.”

“Don’t touch him,” McCoy snarled, but Spock simply looked at him like he knew McCoy wasn’t in his right mind, and settled his splayed fingers on Kirk’s face.

McCoy watched Kirk. Spock did not make a sound. For a moment, the room was all silence. Then Kirk’s face contorted, the first change in expression since  
he went down back on Nixxon Six. 

“Get off him!” yelled McCoy, before he saw Spock’s face. Pain and terror flashed across it, before he keeled over like he had been nerve-pinched. A nurse poked her head in, but an angry look from McCoy was enough to send her running. He checked Kirk, whose face had gone back to its blank state, and then moved to help the stirring Spock.

“What the hell just happened there?” asked McCoy.

“I am not entirely sure,” said Spock his voice shaky but his body already returning to its normal state. “I felt fear, loneliness, sadness. And then—“ He stopped abruptly and looked at Kirk. McCoy was impatient.

“Yeah, and?”

“He pushed me out,” said Spock.

“Serves you right,” muttered McCoy. “Those are personal emotions.” Like the hurt and fear he was feeling. Why was Jim lonely? Weren’t they together now? What was wrong with McCoy that Kirk felt that way even when they were together? Was he the problem that was keeping Kirk trapped in his own mind?

“I have to do it,” said McCoy to no one in particular. Talking when there was no one to hear you was illogical, so it was only logical that Spock answered.

“You cannot perform a mind meld yourself, doctor.”

“I know that!” snapped McCoy. “Don’t you think I know that? I mean… I have to be the one who gets him out of this. He wouldn’t trust just anyone rooting around in his brain.” The last part was said mostly to himself, as he was uncertain if Kirk would trust _anyone_ rooting around in his brain. 

“I was aware of the meaning of your statement, Doctor McCoy. There is a technique called the _Bridging of Minds_. With this technique, I would be able to connect your mind to Captain Kirk’s mind, if you believe you are be able to handle the strain of his thoughts.” Without thinking, McCoy nodded. His rational brain was screaming at him that he’s a fool, that this will never work, that he’s just going to damage himself, but his heart tells him to do it.

“Alright,” said McCoy. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Are you certain?”

“Dammit man, the more time we waste talking about it, the higher the chance of Jim becoming a vegetable!”

“I am aware of the danger the Captain is in right now, Doctor—“

“Then stop talking about it and do it!” Spock closed his mouth on his reply and nodded.

“Sit,” Spock said instead, indicating the chair McCoy had been sitting in when he entered. McCoy followed the order without question. Spock stood in front of the doctor, placing one hand on his face, and then touching the other to Kirk’s. McCoy closed his eyes. There was no change, for a moment, but then the world melted away…

McCoy opened his eyes. He was slightly disoriented, but otherwise undamaged. 

He was standing in the room of an old house. The floors were made of real wood. The bed was an antique from the 22nd century. The sun streamed through gauzy curtains, bringing with it the familiar smells of McCoy’s childhood: fresh-cut grass and cows and a hint of apples. Standing in the doorway was a little boy. He couldn’t have been older than five years old. His small hands fidgeted before he stuck them into the pockets of his coveralls. His hair was surprisingly blond, and mildly curly like the hair of most young children. McCoy wondered for a moment why there was something so familiar about his face… But of course it would be Jim. Tiny Jim, long before he grew up to be cocky and sexy and great. McCoy would have smiled, if he was the type to like children, and if he hadn’t come here for a reason. Instead, seeing the child-version of his closest friend made him impossibly sad.

“Jim,” he said hoarsely. “Please wake up.” _Please wake up?_ he thought bitterly. As if that was going to do anything. Unsurprisingly, the child did not respond. He just stood in the doorway, staring at the bed. For the first time, McCoy noticed there was someone lying there. The rumpled bedclothes concealed a small woman, who was huddled like someone who wasn’t planning on getting out of bed.

“Mommy?” said Jim, his eyes as round and blue as they could be. His mother turned to face him. McCoy watched as the young woman stared at the child, and had to look away as her face crumpled and she fell back into the embrace of the covers.

“Get out,” she gasped, her face half buried in the pillows. “I can’t stand to look at you.” Jim’s face quivered, but he didn’t leave the room.

“Mommy, I miss you,” he told her. “How come you don’t get up?”

“You look like George,” she mumbled. “You look just like him. How can I look at you when you look just like him?” Uncomfortable, now, McCoy wanted to leave. But the child stood in between him and the door, and even if he did leave, he wasn’t sure if he’d end up anywhere but here. Jim knew he was here. He wanted him to see this.

“Sorry,” the kid whispered. But with the determination that McCoy had come to love, the boy walked forward to the edge of the bed. “Can’t you come out? Nana tells me to go away too. Sam locked me out of his room. Mommy?”

“GET OUT!” Winona sobbed from the bed, the blankets muffling the sound. But it didn’t soften the blow the words had to Jim. His eyes watered and he stepped back once, twice. His eyes flicked to McCoy, and then he ran from the room.

And everything went dark.

McCoy’s vision returned. He was standing on the bank of a river, the slope muddy and slippery. He gripped a low hanging tree branch to keep from losing his balance and looked around. He didn’t see anything. He walked further along the bank, his boots quickly becoming muddy and heavy, the wet earth creeping up his ankles and spraying the tucked-in edge of his regulation pants. He reminded himself that his actual clothing was clean, in Sickbay with his body, but the mud seemed real enough. Ahead, he heard a branch snap. A creature of some kind scuttled through the trees on the other side of the river, and a couple birds flew away in haste.

Out from between the trees stomped a little boy, who McCoy recognized even at this distance to be Kirk. He was likely about eight years old, and obviously pouting. He kicked globs of mud into the river and threw the rock he was holding across the stream. It landed with a satisfying thud on the other side. He leaned down to pick up another rock and threw it too. It hit a tree a ways up the river from McCoy. And as McCoy watched, Kirk threw another rock. But this time the motion put him off balance, and as the bank was muddy with receding floodwaters, there was nothing to stop the boy from falling directly into the river.

“Jim!” yelled McCoy. Without hesitation, McCoy jumped into the river fully clothed. He swam towards the place where Kirk had fallen in. The kid hadn’t broken the surface yet, but McCoy could see where he was flailing in vain. He slogged forward but his foot got caught on a root and he went down face first. He struggled against it, but the root was twisted in the ground and the riverbed was already seeping around his foot, trying to keep him there. He went down and tugged with all his might, eventually ripping one end of the root out of the ground. He gasped for air as he broke the surface, and saw the feebly thrashing body of Kirk further down the river now than when McCoy had jumped in. He moved forward again, desperately needing to save Kirk from drowning inside his own mind. 

It threw him off a little when he saw someone else jump into the river. Older, taller and stronger than Jim but made of the same stuff—this had to be his brother Sam. As McCoy stood alone in the middle of the river, Sam hauled his younger brother from beneath the current and pushed him onto the bank. The spluttering boy scrabbled at the bank and left Sam room to climb up behind him. McCoy wandered downstream as the shaking face of Kirk turned in his direction, his eyes scared and relieved and worried. As if he expected to be swept away again at any moment…

The world swam into focus again.

“I will not allow us to go backwards!” yelled Kirk. McCoy stood with Spock between them, staring at Jim. He felt a wave of confusion, as if he was experiencing déjà vu, until he realized that he was living through a moment in Kirk’s life he’d been there for. 

“Jim, he’s the Captain,” he said, though his words were drowned out by Spock’s response and Kirk’s increasingly passionate demands.

“Security,” said Spock, staring at Kirk. McCoy could see Spock’s shoulders were tighter than usual. Jim’s bruised and battered face was defiant, and then— a wall went up. McCoy knew that meant Kirk was planning something, just like he’d known the first time. But he was powerless to stop it as Kirk tore himself free of the two young security officers, desperately trying to fight his way out of what he thought was the absolute wrong situation.

“That’s enough, Jim!” McCoy yelled, but it was too late. Kirk’s frantic eyes fluttered shut as Spock pinched a nerve, and Kirk’s body crumpled.

With a jolt, McCoy realized he was standing in the shuttle bay back at the academy. He’s wearing his cadet reds and he can see the back of Kirk’s head heading across the sea of purposeful cadets. He remembers his own loss of direction at that point, assigned without his best friend. His heart tightens, but he follows Kirk.

“…on academic suspension,” the Commander was saying. “That means you’re grounded until the Academy board rules.” McCoy didn’t know what to say, still doesn’t, and so he says the only thing he can think of.

“Jim, the board’ll rule in your favour. Most likely.” Kirk’s head dropped, and McCoy feels worse than ever at this moment. “Look, Jim, I gotta go,” he told him, even though he doesn’t want to, even though he’ll stay in Kirk’s head as long as he refuses to wake up.

“Yeah,” Kirk replied, and McCoy noticed the way his voice is flat, the way his eyes shone too-brightly. “You go. Be safe.” And dammit, McCoy didn’t want to be safe, he wanted to be with him, but still, he turned away. 

Before he could turn back, he was in a bar in Iowa. Sitting at a table littered with beer glasses, was Kirk. His face was covered in blood in a way that alarmed McCoy at first, but when he realized that Kirk had obviously just been fighting and that he was otherwise all right, he relaxed a little. Not much.

“Jim,” said McCoy. “We can’t keep dancing around like this. You need to wake up. We need you out here!”

“Why’re you talking to me, man?” Kirk asked, his eyes downcast.

“I’ve just spent the better part of sixteen hours trying to wake you from a coma in every medical manner I could think of! Dammit, man, this is the last resort.”

Kirk stared at him, through him.  
“Jim,” he continued, “You haven’t had the best luck, I know. But neither have I. And now you’ve got more good luck than you know what to do with. You can’t give up on that. You can’t be enjoying reliving everything that’s sucked in your past.”

“Maybe I love it,” Kirk muttered defiantly.

“Don’t be such an infant. You’re stronger than all this!” But Kirk didn’t look convinced.

McCoy was suddenly standing in the doorway of a bar. This was different than the first one. It was darker and seedier, had fewer attractive young people and more ornery locals. It only took him a moment to spot Kirk—sitting at the far end of the bar, nursing one of many beers. McCoy didn’t waste any time and crossed the room. He slid onto the free stool beside him.

“This dive bar is from before you cleaned up your act,” said McCoy. “You don’t fit in at a place like this anymore.” Kirk didn’t look up. “You’re more than this now.” Kirk still didn’t respond. 

A man came from the other side of Kirk. He was a police officer. 

“Citizen,” the officer barked in his clear, authoritative voice. “Are you James T. Kirk?”

“Yeah,” muttered Kirk as he raised the bottle to drag the last of the beer out. “Who’s asking?”

“You have a record of twelve charges of aggravated assault, three charges of grand theft auto, one charge of—“

“I know the list,” Kirk growled. “What do you want?”

“You’re under arrest.”

“What?” said Kirk, slamming the beer down. “What the hell for?”

“Assault. At 2300 hours, approximately fourteen minutes ago, a man reported he’d been assaulted by someone fitting your description.”

“Yeah, well,” said Kirk, getting out of his seat. “Too bad for him. But I’ve been in here nearly and hour. Anyone can vouch for me.” The officer looked around, but the patrons seemed to be purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“I see no volunteers,” said the officer.

“Well it wasn’t me.” Kirk’s face was all defiance, McCoy knew. But the officer was severe and unwavering.

“Are you resisting arrest?” asked the officer. McCoy didn’t like the tone in his voice and tried to step between them, but Kirk was too close. He watched in vain as Kirk snorted.

“I’m not getting arrested for something I didn’t do.” The officer moved fast, slamming Kirk face down against the bar. Everything in the bar went silent except the music, still playing the country wailings of the latest starlet. He cuffed Kirk before he could even try to struggle, but Kirk was kicking backwards, trying to get free, indignant and angry.

McCoy followed the cop, who was dragging Kirk away. This was a memory, and he knew he couldn’t change it, but it was hard not to try. But as he stepped through the door, he instead found himself on a farm.

The sky was orange, more vibrant than he’d ever seen on Earth. The plants around him were unfamiliar, but bore signs of bearing food of some kind. He turned around and glimpsed Kirk just behind him, twelve years old and running, running from…

With a feeling like he’d been hit by a ton of bricks, McCoy fell flat on his back. Everything was black. He wasn’t a body anymore, just mind and pain.

“What the hell was that?” he cried out to no one in particular.

“I do not believe that is something he wanted us to see,” came Spock’s voice, like some kind of omniscient god.

“Fine,” said McCoy. “If he doesn’t want to share, he doesn’t have to.” But then his body came back, and as he got used to the feeling of the phantom limbs again, he found himself on the Bridge.

Uhura stepped between McCoy and Kirk. McCoy swore, stepped back a couple feet to avoid crashing into her.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, _Captain_ ,” she said, looking down at Kirk slouched in the Captain’s chair. The man’s eyes flicked down, and the look in his eyes reminded McCoy of that kid by the river. Scared, relieved, and expecting to be swept away at any moment.

“Jim,” McCoy said, his voice soft. “Jim, don’t think like that. You’ve gone above and beyond what anyone thought you could do.”

But this faded away too.

 

“JIM!” yelled McCoy, standing in the middle of the river again. He was freaking out a little bit now, confused by the rapid changes in Kirk’s train of thought. But he had to stay with Jim. “I’m not leaving! I know you think I’m trying to abandon you but I’m not moving a muscle!” 

And then he’s standing on the Bridge. Spock is sitting in the Captain’s chair, glaring at Kirk. McCoy moved forward quickly, ignoring his own memories that had held him in place before. Closer to Kirk, he could see the fear behind the determination in his eyes.

“Jim, I will stay here as long as it takes to get you out.”

“I will not allow us to go backwards!” Kirk’s battered face twisted in anger.

“I’m not leaving you alone in your head to beat yourself up! Jim, please,” McCoy looked at him and his heart sank as he watched a wall go up behind Kirk’s eyes. “Jim, I am not leaving you. Not going anywhere unless you come out.” 

McCoy was in the old house again, Kirk’s mother burrowed into the bed. McCoy continued as if nothing had happened.

“We’ll all starve to death like this,” said McCoy. He didn’t know if Spock was listening, but if he was he didn’t object. “We’ll be trapped in this mind meld forever.” Five-year-old Jim’s eyes watered as he fled the room and McCoy lurched after him.

He stumbled after Kirk in his cadet reds. 

“Jim, I don’t regret this.” The shuttles leaving the bay ruffled McCoy’s hair. Kirk looked into the distance like he was lost. “I don’t regret bringing you onto the Enterprise. Without you, we’d all be dead.” Kirk dropped his head. McCoy crossed in front of Kirk and after only a moment of nervous hesitation, took his hands. Surprised, Kirk looked up. “Jim. You are the best thing that has happened to all of us. Spock, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty—none of us would know each other, would have been able to work together without you.” McCoy looked away for a moment, embarrassment pooling in his stomach. He was being open and honest. But it was Jim, and with him it was fine. “You’re holding us together. You’re holding me together.”

“I don’t deserve this,” whispered Kirk, letting his gaze drift. “I don’t deserve the job of my dreams and my exceptional crew and making something out of my wreck of a life and…” His eyes flicked up to look at McCoy. “You. I don’t deserve you. You’re good stuff, Bones.” McCoy shook his head. They both knew Spock was there, could hear and feel everything, but it didn’t matter.

“I’m damaged goods,” said McCoy. “But you make it better. Jim, I’m not saying you’re perfect. No one is. You’re too damn cocky for your own good and you’re allergic to the rules. But that’s part of your charm.” Kirk almost smiled at this, and McCoy tipped Jim’s chin so he couldn’t look away, couldn’t deflect the compliment. “We all agreed to be in this together. And that’s you too. You deserve the world and more.”

And though Kirk still looked scared and relieved and afraid he’d be swept away at any moment, he also looked determined. McCoy knew then that he’d won. He placed a slow kiss on Kirk’s lips. Nothing of the passion of their past kisses, all teeth and tongue. Now, it was just the contact, the two of them together at last.

Spock knew then that he could break the link, but he gave them just a little bit more time.

\---

Later that night, McCoy and Kirk lay in bed entwined. Kirk was burrowed against McCoy, his head resting on his chest. McCoy was warm and comfortable and never wanted to move. His eyes were closed with fatigue, and he let the comfort of him and Jim wash over him like a hard-earned shower. He opened one eye to see if Jim was sleeping, only to find him staring.

“What?” he asked. Like the morning they had woken, more than twenty-four hours ago, Jim’s eyes were soft.

“Nothing,” said Kirk. “Just thinking about how I might, you know. Love you.” McCoy snorted.

“I know,” he told him. “You let me root around in your head when you kicked Spock out like a light. I already know.”

Kirk didn’t say anything more, just placed a small kiss on McCoy’s chest. As they drifted asleep, McCoy mumbled, “Yeah, I love you too.”


End file.
